


Paired Flight

by DerpyMcButtface



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Turtles ahead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerpyMcButtface/pseuds/DerpyMcButtface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>None of the advice anyone every gave Aleksis prepared him for Sasha. Just a ramble following them through first the Jaeger Academy and then into their career as Rangers. </p><p>+Triplets because I said so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Always be gentle with girls. You’re built strong, but they’re built beautiful. If men are made of flesh, women are made of filigree glass- exquisite, but you must hold them carefully, tenderly, never squeeze too hard lest they bruise like flower petals._

 

When Aleksis finally gets his breath back, he’s lying facedown on the mats of the Kwoon room, his head still swimming with little lights from the crack across his jaw with a staff. It’s sometime in the morning before the sun rises, but he still hasn’t landed a single hit on his partner.

 

Her voice is sharp over him. “Stop holding back, Kaidonovsky, how do you expect to win anything like that? Do you think the Kaiju are going to pull punches just because you’re ‘smaller’ than them?”

 

He gets up, but a round later, his head is buzzing, this time from one of her powerful punches.

 

“Loser! Stop holding back- I’ll slit your throat!” she snarls. “Goddamned retard-“

 

Frustrated, and with his rage sizzling behind his ears, he hurls his staff away and shoves her- no, he punches her, throwing her against the wall. Oh, she’s mad now, isn’t she? Is she scared? Is she going to frame him for assault? Let her- he’ll thrash them all to the ground, blow up this goddamn boarding school with it, let them all burn-

 

But no, she’s wiping the blood off her nose, shaking her head to get her bearings ago- and she’s smiling, a wickedly triumphant smile.

 

It’s then that he realizes what he’s done, and he’s about to rush forward, prop her up, get her an ice pack, but she waves him aside and stomps up to him.

 

“That’s it, Kaidonovsky,” she laughs, her red lipstick smudged on her gleaming, white teeth. “That’s what you need to do.” She claps him across the shoulder, and he winces as his ribs protest. “Come on. Three more times like that.”

 

They look like they’ve gone through a meat grinder when the sun comes up. Aleksis wasn’t able to land as many hits on Sasha as she did on him, but when he did, she stayed down for a full ten seconds. Their mouths are split and bleeding like overripe plums, and Aleksis is sure that they both look like raccoons from both sleep deprivation and black eyes, but Sasha’s smiling, joking around, as they make their ways to their separate rooms.

 

Two days later, a new PDCC policy is instated: No contact sparring in the Kwoon room.

 

* * *

 

_Eating is just one of women’s charms. The flicker of eyelashes, delicate lips barely opening, while her eyes look at everything but her meal- almost as if she is almost afraid of being seen eating, is an art. The little bit of uneaten food, tucked away in the corner of the plate for Miss Manners, is a masterpiece._

 

The academy’s breakfast was the same gray as the sky outside, and Aleksis looks through the stack of pancakes for the freshest-looking ones. The canteen is empty save for him, Sasha, and the three Chinese brothers, as no one would be awake at sunrise on a Sunday unless they had classes to go to, and many of their classmates preferred to sleep in and eat later, rather than waking up early to get breakfast before.

 

The scrape of metal on china told him that Sasha had started eating, so he returned to the table with his pancakes and whatever sausages had remained after the dedicated carnivores Hu, Jin, and Cheung had rolled through.

 

He rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t that Sasha was a sloppy eater, it was just that she didn’t so much as wolf her food down- she sharked it. Most people bought their fork to their mouth; she bought her mouth to the fork. It was something he was unused to- he remembered his mother hitting his elbows off the table and slapping his hand if he dared to open his mouth as much as a centimeter while chewing, or if he had the audacity to slouch just a little. He was perhaps the only man to be told that he “ate like a girl” over a pound and a half of rare steak.

 

There’s a noise like a buzz saw, and Sasha’s toast is gone. “Are you eating the slap?” she asks, eyeing his obligatory bowl of gray mush. According to rumor, slap, made from rehydrated scrap meat, was originally developed to provide protein for famine-hit areas before it was declared ‘inhumane’ and ‘an abomination against human decency and the digestive system,’ hence its prevalence in military rations. Other unconfirmed rumors said that it was actually edible.

 

“Not unless you pay me,” he mutters, shoving the jiggly substance towards her. The Chinese triplets look on in horror as she spoons it over her eggs.

 

“You know, I don’t think you’re actually meant to eat that,” Hu, the one with the best English, informs her.

 

“Says the Chinaman,” Sasha snorts, switching to English.

 

 “Hey.” The other brother, Jin, waggles his fingers in the air, grinning jokingly. “We eat everything that’s _edible._ ”

 

“Technically, McDonald’s hamburgers are the same story as slap, if you think about it, I mean…” the last triplet mutters quietly from where he’s picking at a fried egg.

 

“Shut up Cheung, if you got something against McDonald’s, why did you eat my chicken nuggets-“

 

“For the last time, I didn’t! Why are you always blaming me for that, I told you, Grandpa was the one who ate them-“

 

“Grandpa doesn’t even have teeth, you liar!”

 

Distracted by the triplets’ chatter, Aleksis shakes his head and picks up his fork to start eating his breakfast. He turns his head to comment on it to Sasha, only to realize that she’s already done eating, her plate clean. She’s reapplying her lipstick, using the back of a spoon as a mirror.  

 

“You done? We have to be in 1B in half an hour, you know.”

 

Aleksis frowns. “IB? They’re assigned to IB today too,” he says jerking his heads in the direction of the triplets. The brothers are arguing in full force, and somehow their conflict has transferred from pilfered chicken nuggets to whose fault it was the truck ran over the basketball six years ago.

 

“I can’t believe you’re their age,” Sasha comments dryly. “My God it’s like kids get younger and younger every year…”

 

A projectile bread crust flies over their heads. He closes his eyes and sighs- it’s going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

“My God.” For the fifth time, Lo Hin Shen raises a hand and signals the technicians to stop the test. The moment the machine behind them goes quiet, he whips off the Drift headgear, ignoring the winces from the observing scientists. At barely five feet and bald from his chemotherapy, the Chinese man barely reaches Aleksis’s chest. But he knows that the ex-Ranger can more than take him down faster than he can blink. Rush in fast, hang on like a very angry limpet, and keep punching until the opponent drops dead. “This is ridiculous- no, no, I’m out!” Lo Shin waves his hands, practically looming over Aleksis like a very disapproving tsunami. “For God’s sakes, young man… Are you _trying_ to be difficult?”

 

Aleksis tries to open his mouth to protest that he’s not deliberately sabotaging the greatest wish he ever had, but Lo Shin is having none of it. “It’s hard enough to establish a Drift with strangers as is, but you- you keep trying to push me out before the Handshake even initiates! What’s up with that, huh? My God, this is like trying to shove a stick up Pentecost’s-”

 

“Lo Shin.”

 

“Pentecost.” Lo Shin turns around, a joking look in his eye. “Just to remind you, I wasn’t the one to come up with that line.”

 

“I’m well aware. Lo Shin, why don’t you go work with the triplets? I believe you can sort them out,” the Marshall asks, and despite his casual tone, it’s definitely more than a suggestion. “But please avoid aggravating them again.”

 

Lo Shin gives a stiff salute. “Yes, Pent- Yes, sir,” he corrects himself, before turning on his heel neatly and marching out of the room.

 

Aleksis looks down in shame. Marshall Pentecost is shorter than him (as is everyone else anyways), but he gives the distinct impression of height and presence. There is always an aura of command and control about him that Aleksis can’t help but envy- the Marshall is the kind of man that when the world falls apart, it will rebuild and regroup around him. “Kaidanovsky. I heard you were having trouble during the earliest stages of the Drift.”

 

He mumbles something that could be taken as a “yes.” Meanwhile, the faint sound of shouting wafts in from the corridor. “I told you, I told you, he’s been blaming me all these years for those chicken nuggets while _Hu_ here- I saw it! I saw it all in the Drift, you liar!” Aleksis gives the doorway a questioning look, but the Marshall shakes his head.

 

“They’re fine. Siblings are always like that-“ he stops, the barest hint of a flicker behind his eyes, before he collects himself and puts on the rest of the helmet. “Well, let’s see what the problem is.” The Marshall signals to the technicians to begin.

 

The machines whirr into motion, to produce the neural handshake.

 

Unlike Lo Shin’s loud presence poking around him, the Marshall’s mind is more of a long white tunnel waiting for him to enter, rather than nosing around impatiently.

 

As he drifts into a white tunnel, he catches flashes through Pentecost’s eyes: extremely mundane things. _A toothbrush. Another toothbrush. Changing a toothbrush. A box of dental floss. Wondering whether or not Styrofoam is recyclable. The most human memory is anxiety at having forgotten to water a potted plant for a week._

 

 _A red shoe._ This quickly disappears, as if it had barely managed to slip out from behind the Marshall’s iron mind.

 

 Nothing said anything about the man behind the memories.

 

The white tunnel blooms into a white world, like something from an abstract music video. He can feel his own mind drifting around in the empty space, feeling like he had entered someone’s bedroom only to find it completely empty. It takes him a few seconds to realize that it’s because the Marshall bought nothing into the Drift. While Aleksis’s own memories and feelings are bouncing about like marbles, Marshall Pentecost’s Driftspace is a controlled expanse.

 

His own memories pummel him. It’s bearable though- just fragments of images, feelings. This isn’t so bad, if only Sasha could see, actually probably better if she doesn’t there’s a lot he doesn’t want her to-

 

The Drift pulls out of his hands and surges along his train of thought.

 

_A woman in a skintight black dress, ice-blonde hair and lips like a bleeding gash, under the fluorescent lights of the club. Beautiful, ferocious, sensual, he is aroused. It’s mere desire, nothing more._

_Collecting debts, his knuckles are always sore afterwards. They don’t pay up once, he throws them around a little. They don’t pay up twice, he takes a few teeth, an ear, an eye if it’s a large loan. They don’t pay up three times, there’s nowhere they can run and they end up in a garbage dump as Unknown Homicide Victim._

_He can’t stop thinking about her laughter, her light blue eyes. They talk until five in the morning, he tries to follow her but loses her in the alleys of Moscow. He wants to hear her laugh._

_Hangover one morning, wondering how many lives he’s wrecked this week._

_If we keep talking this late all the time, I’m going to turn nocturnal._

_No exceptions. Give me the money now, or I will take everything else in the flat. Is that your sister, I know someone who would pay for her, the commission would cover your loan, you know-_

_You’re back, where were you this last week- sorry, I came every night but couldn’t find you- Oh, I see, anyways I’m happy, seeing you makes me happy, no, ignore that, I’m blathering._

_They call it a Kaiju._

_Alexandra Antonova is the most beautiful name in the world._

_Blood on his knuckles as he stuffs the stolen ration cards into his pocket, not caring that the rightful owner would go hungry._

_They stumble out of an alley together, her hair is in disarray from the fight but her lipstick is still perfect, he wipes blood off his knuckles. They liberated a few keepsakes from the bodies- a chain here, a ring there, just for fun. You- you fight just like I fight._

_Collecting debts, his knuckles are always sore afterwards. Taking ration cards as interest, the ones for alcohol can be sold for five times the actual value._

_Hah, this is why people don’t fucking mess with me, Aleksis. My old man said the world doesn’t care if you’re a lady, you know. Here, you can get up now- are you all right? No, sit down, that guy got you pretty damn hard._

_Counting teeth one by one._

_This is my place. I know it’s not much but I hope- I hope- I don’t really know what I’m hoping, sorry._

_There are protests, riots- not just in Russia but all over the world, there’s no shipping, there’s panic, the world’s spinning out of control and even Alexander Vasilevich Kaidanovsky can do nothing but watch the city burn, he is angry- he hates being helpless he hates it more than anything-_

_No, no Alexandra. Call me Sasha._

_He can’t fight, he can’t run- he’s so angry he takes it out on anyone and anything he can he comes back looking like rotten meat but that’s nothing compared to the other guys._

_Sasha’s gone she hasn’t been here in a year. He waits outside their spot, people learn to not ask questions. He feels empty. Empty like he’s dead. This makes him angry. He comes back looking like a corpse but that’s nothing compared to all the guys._

_They call it a Jaeger. Jaeger. Pilot. Kodiak Island. Do you want to fight?_

_He passes some sort of screening. It’s strange, simply tasks: rotating a complex shape in his head, pointing to things on a map, doing 3D mazes, pointing to where his feet are with his eyes closed. The test people look surprised and impressed and talk amongst themselves and he doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but they tell him to go to the pilot school ASAP. So he goes to America his possessions on his back. There are people everywhere, he can barely speak English, he sees a black person for the first time in his life._

_I came here to fight. To help. I want to stand up._

_They have special, small groups to help him learn English fast, he’s stuck in it with a lot of people who all look Chinese. There are three brothers who all look exactly alike and they are always goofing off, but they’re nice to him._

_He’s lost. His English is barely improving and he has to depend on an interpreter for some science classes, how humiliating, everyone looks at him and thinks ‘big stupid Russian lug.’ No one wants him here anyways, maybe he’s just wasting the PDCC’s time and-_

_Sasha._

_This is my cousin Fyodor, Fyodor, this is Aleksis, he’s an old friend. It’s good seeing you Aleksis, Fyodor and I have class now, sorry, we have to go._

_The Chinese boys ask him why he looks like he’s about to either cry or take a huge shit. He tries to hit one of them but they’re too fast and the teacher is looking anyways._

_They’re looking out at the expanse of snow together her hair, her lipstick are just like he remembered is he dreaming, no, this is real. But Sasha has Fyodor and Aleksis has no one. Everyone else has someone. Even if he can’t be a pilot, he’ll be a technician, an engineer- anything to help the people fight. He is part of something bigger now, and whatever he can do to help, he will do it. But Sasha has Fyodor and even if they’re cousins not lovers… It doesn’t matter, she’s not interested anyways. Still, he thinks of Sasha and thinks of her often, he’s happiest in the rare times they’re alone talking._

The more he tries to shove them away, the more they churn into their shared mindspace-

 

_Excitement when Fyodor announces a change of career into the engineering department and goes to the center somewhere in another part of America- now Sasha needs a new partner and this is his chance. Guilt when he sees how upset she is- how can he wish she would be upset Oh God this isn’t what he meant no she can’t drop out- she won’t drop out ‘there’s someone for me I hope’ she says, and he feels sick when she doesn’t look at him when she says it. She’s the best in everything of course there’s someone, someone who’s not him-_

_The first semester is over. A third have left, including Fyodor._

_They say the Pons testing is when everyone drops out…  Aleksis, are you nervous? I am._

_He wants Sasha to succeed. He wants her to win out against her fears. He wants to see her smiling in a safe world she helped create and- Oh God what is he thinking?_

_Guilt, shame, humiliation: he came here to fight Kaiju and fight for the future of the world, not to moon after a woman, how utterly mortifying Oh God there’s someone seeing this-_

_What if he has to Drift with Sasha? She’d rip the headset off her head for sure- if she knew that he wasn’t brave strong talented anything on the inside, that he thinks he just might like her a lot, she’d never want anything to have to do with such a-_

_Obviously he’s not good enough, he doesn’t want this enough, he can’t do this, and he’s humiliated to let anyone know- Pull back, there’s someone listening in- Get away-_

 

“Kaidanovsky. _Kaidanovsky._ ” Marshall’s voice cuts through his panic, shearing it off. “Look at me.”

 

Aleksis blinks the sweat out of his eyes and tries to obey, swallowing hard and turning white.

 

“ _Look. At. Me.”_

 

He stares at Pentecost, concentrating on every pore of his dark skin, every bristle of his mustache, steeling himself in the cool command.

 

“I don’t care what you feel or what you’ve seen. I don’t care what you’ve done before this. It’s all quite trivial to me,” Pentecost explains calmly, and in the Drift, he allows Aleksis to feel the truth of the statement. The younger man nods weakly as it washes over him. “Now I want you to calm down and continue. Stop pulling back. I don’t care what I see. I don’t care,” he repeats, annunciating every word.

 

Aleksis nods and concentrates on the Marshall, concentrates on his dark, unreadable eyes, his steadiness, his iron and his stone. His mind fills with images of the Marshall’s mustache- it would have been comical if he weren’t concentrating so hard- and nothing but the Marshall’s eyes floating above his mustache.

 

Their minds click. The flow from each person is steady, consistent, smooth. Everything is still. 

 

Aleksis can feel distinctly in his mind, from the white space that is the Marshall’s contribution to the Drift, a statement (not a voice, but the knowledge of one): _There you have it. This is a Drift. That wasn’t so bad, was it?_

 

Just like that, he was Drifting.

 

“Neural handshake strong and holding,” the head technician announces.

 

“Thank you. This run was a success. Disengage us, please,” the Marshall orders.

 

One of the junior technicians lets out a whoop of triumph before catching herself and busying away imputing data. The others continue to disconnect the machinery, disassembling the neural connection.

 

“I was worried it was something serious,” the Marshall comments wryly. Aleksis flushes, knowing exactly what Pentcoste is referring to. For a moment the older man looks like he’s going to say more, but only states simply, “You’ve made it this far. It’s unacceptable that such a trivial matter puts your future career as a Ranger in jeopardy. I don’t want to see this happening again.”

 

“Yes sir,” Aleksis says sullenly.

 

“Report back for more testing as according to your schedule.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Pentecost folds up the wires dangling from the headset and hands them to a technician, walking towards the door. As he leaves, he folds his hands behind his back. “Kaidanovsky.”

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

The Marshall hesitates, as if reluctant to comment. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

 

Aleksis looks away, his face nearly purple. “Yes, sir.” He shakily stands up to salute, but ends up hitting his head on one of the wire hangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I found a horrible way to insert backstory in the middle of story. Sorry.
> 
> Also the chicken nugget mystery is solved.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter: Drift Practice.
> 
> Also, I don't mean for this to be feminist or justicey, but if you want to take it that way, that's okay.


End file.
